Puppet King
by Curioser
Summary: "Five months in, he wasn't even sure what he missed. Maybe it was his old room, his old city. Maybe, just maybe, he actually missed Bruce. But he wondered if what he missed most was just having someone else to be in charge all the damn time." Robin's a little shaken up after the night of the Puppet King. Oneshot, T for language.


The first thing Robin did when they returned after defeating the Puppet King was take a shower.

While the water heated, he took stock of the injuries his body had sustained while something else had occupied it. He stood naked in front of the quickly steaming mirror, thinking he could almost see the bruises and welts rising on his skin.

Clobbered by Beast Boy, as a tiger and a gorilla. A few gashes from being thrown, likely from something high. A number of very distinctly fist-shaped bruises, though he couldn't say which of the girls had punched him. His legs and back ached from being jerked into the air by his ankle, around which the skin had been rubbed raw by the suspending rope.

They were certainly not the worst injuries he'd ever sustained. And by all means, they were better than whatever alternative had awaited them at the bottom of that glowing cauldron. But having no memory of the injuries—knowing they had happened when he wasn't _in_ his body—made them unnerving.

He showered carefully, probing for any wounds he had missed, exploring the different aches and pains. When he was done, he thought about getting out but ran a tub instead. If Beast Boy wanted a shower, he could hound the girls out of their bathroom. This was one of the few places in the Tower that Robin could get some goddamn peace and quiet, and after the night they'd all had, he was taking it.

He climbed into the tub and lay back, closing his eyes. His mask hung limp over the bathroom counter, along with a clean uniform. It was a relief to strip it all off for a moment.

His heart rate still hadn't completely returned to normal after their ordeal. That had been the strangest, most terrible part: knowing he was terrified, knowing he could die with no way to fight back, and not feeling his heart racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through his body. He had been essence reattached to wood, thought without the brain that sustained it.

Robin had been brainwashed before. He had even been possessed. But this had been infinitely worse. He hadn't been forced to the passenger seat; he'd been crowded out of his body entirely.

And Cyborg had insisted on bringing the evil husk of a puppet back to the Tower, as a trophy. Robin was more than a little tempted to steal the thing and burn it in the middle of the night.

He sighed and settled a little deeper into the water.

How long had they been at this? Five, almost six months, now. And for the most part it was good. But every now and then—like tonight—he felt like he'd gotten in over his head with this project. Thank God for the girls and their resourcefulness, their teamwork. Otherwise the other three would be, as the Puppet King put it, "destroyed." He could never have foreseen it, much less trained them for it.

He wanted to feel proud of Raven and Starfire, and for the most part he did. But he also felt tired, beyond the fatigue of his body. On the way home, everyone had wanted to talk—Raven and Star to discuss their victory, Cyborg and Beast Boy to weigh better security screenings. All of them to ask Robin if he'd ever seen anything like it before.

And of course he hadn't. Who the fuck turned people into puppets?

It was wearing, being the most expert member of the team. He had known that when he signed up for it, intellectually, but living it 24/7 was exhausting. He knew how to lead training sessions and give pep talks, how to comfort and encourage when a teammate needed it. But in moments like now, he didn't know where to turn when he was out of his own depth. He'd feel most comfortable talking—at least in a veiled way—to Starfire about it. But he didn't want her worrying, or watching, or worse, second-guessing him when he needed her to trust and follow.

He thought with a twist of guilt about the second suit he'd been working on, but he pushed it out of his mind. Time enough for that later.

He thought about calling home. It had been weeks since his last call. Alfred had said Bruce wasn't there, so the two of them had had a long chat instead. But Robin wasn't sure Alfred had been entirely truthful about Bruce, who had not been overly pleased with Robin's decision to leave. At any rate, Bruce hadn't returned the call, and to his own shock and disgust, Robin was starting to feel homesick.

He wasn't even sure what he missed. Maybe it was his old room, his old city, Alfred and Babs and others who had helped raise him. Maybe, just maybe, he actually missed Bruce. But he wondered if what he missed most was just having someone else to be in charge all the damn time.

Normally he wasn't homesick at all. He was too busy training, patrolling, fighting. And conducting "bonding activities" to help build their camaraderie, on and off the battlefield. Playing GameStation with Beast Boy and Cyborg. Working or reading quietly in the same room as Raven, while she meditated or drank tea. Exploring Jump City with Starfire, fielding her endless questions about Earth customs and daily life. Just talking to Starfire for hours, and hours.

Movie nights. Pizza dinners. Basketball and volleyball games on the roof, cards and board games on the coffee table. All part of training. Of team-building.

Oh, bullshit.

The water was starting to cool. He hunkered farther down into the tub and turned the hot water tap with his foot, scowling to no one.

It was fun. Okay? He was having _fun,_ more fun than he had expected, more fun than he might have ever had in his life.

In Gotham, he didn't have friends his own age. Not real friends, anyway. He got along well with his classmates, but the all had clubs and extracurriculars that he couldn't be a part of. The more people he spent time with, the more there were to question why he couldn't ever hang out after school, or attend games, or meet for group projects. So he kept to himself, and tried to be as friendly as possible while keeping others at a distance. The other kids at Gotham Academy generally left him alone, concluding that Bruce Wayne's adopted kid was aloof and stuck-up but all right for the most part. His closest companion was Barbara, but that was different. Complicated.

Here, he wasn't balancing a double life. He was Robin, 24/7, and had plenty of time for games and group meals and hanging out. And while he was certainly a leader on the battlefield and a coach in the gym, in all these other moments he could be just a _friend._ Not overshadowed, or overshadowing. Just a 16-year-old with four roommates who got along well enough. Until he had only _one_ life to live, he hadn't known it was possible to share so much of it with other people. And he had never really expected to find people like the Titans—who, like him, were just trying to carve out a home for themselves.

It was a weird, patchwork, impossible situation: five teenage superheroes living in a giant T, for God's sake. But it was the closest approximation to "normal" life any of them had had in a very long time, and damn it, it _was_ fun.

Which was why this thing with the Puppet King had scared him so badly. It felt like he had forgotten what their real jobs were here: to fight and defend. Fun was an occupation hazard, not the point of the exercise. They were powerful, and good at what they did, but all five of them were mortal. This could all be snatched from them at any moment. And knowing that was a constant reality and still being happy, still having fun, felt…wrong. Incongruous. Incompatible.

About as incompatible as a sidekick, an alien, a mystic, a changeling and a cyborg all living under the same roof.

Knuckles rapped on the bathroom door.

"Hey, Robin?"

He groaned inwardly. He'd known it was only a matter of time before Beast Boy came knocking.

"I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, cool. Cuz Cyborg and I were going to start a GameStation tournament and probably watch a movie. If you want to join. It's whatever."

Robin frowned. "Hang on a second."

It was time he got out anyway; his fingers had pruned. He drained the tub and got dressed, putting his mask on last and hastily toweling his hair.

Beast Boy was fidgeting in the hallway when he opened the door.

"You're doing what now?"

"Video games. Movies. Probably lots of snacks. And, um, just kind of generally not sleeping. Right now."

He was…unusually twitchy. He kept pulling at his gloves and looking just about anywhere but Robin's masked eyes. It had been months since Beast Boy had last called him "sir," but Robin had the weary feeling that it was often at the tip of his tongue.

"I think I'll pass. It's been a long day."

"Oh, yeah. Totally. It's cool."

Beast Boy turned to leave, and then appeared to change his mind.

"Only we've got, like, the _good_ gummy bears. And those Cracker Jack things you like. And one of those action detective movies, not a horror one."

The penny dropped then. Beast Boy—and Cyborg too, presumably—were asking him to come hang out. But they weren't just looking for a fun night in. Beast Boy wasn't just twitchy. Now that the girls had gone to bed and he'd had time to process, he was shaken up. Scared. And if Robin had to put money on it, he would guess that Cyborg was feeling the same way.

And they weren't just asking for their own comfort, he realized. They wouldn't have brought up his favorite old-fashioned candy (a holdover from his circus years) or his preferred genre of movie, which neither Beast Boy nor Cyborg found all that compelling, if they were just trying to bribe him for his company. As shaken as they were, Robin realized, they were guessing he might be feeling the same way. Neither of them wanted to be alone tonight, and they were inviting him so he didn't have to be, either.

Before he realized he was doing it, he smiled.

"Actually, that does sound good. I'm in."

Beast Boy's face lit up.

"Awesome! I'll get a few more sodas." He bounded back down the hallway. Robin rubbed away some of the steam from the mirror and combed his fingers through his hair.

Tomorrow, maybe, they would try to figure out how to defend themselves from threats of the supernatural or magical variety. And later, maybe—in the early hours of the morning, when one got so delirious with exhaustion one could be excused for showing a little vulnerability—they might level with each other over just how fucking terrifying it had been to be trapped inside puppet bodies. Later, definitely, they would deal with it all.

But right now, he was going to enjoy being cared for and included. Tonight, to fend off the nightmares, they were going to have a little fun.


End file.
